Dear Slavery,

I'm still hung up on the girl I broke up with over three months ago. I see her rarely, but when I do, it ruins whatever good mood I may have been in and I spend the next several hours making stupid decisions and annoying my friends. How do I forget this girl?

Thanks,
I'm Wearing a Shirt She Gave Me


Dear I'm Wearing a Shirt She Gave Me,

ACT ONE SCENE ONE
At rise: A barren desert. Mlagam lies down in the sand, and Jabali sits nearby. They are both emaciated, filthy and almost naked.
(Jabali stands up and directly addresses the audience.)
Jabali: A lot of people will tell you that it doesn’t feel very hot in the desert because it’s a dry heat, but, I don’t know, it’s always seemed pretty hot to me.
(Jabali sits near Mlagam and begins speaking to him.)
Jabali: Think about this: (points down) here is Azebu. (points stage left) That way is Baz-Baz. (points stage right) That way is Uzanga. (points upstage) That’s Dezembi. (points downstage) And that’s Malanjiajumbuz. Do you think there’s anything odd about that?
(no answer)
Jabali: They all have Z’s in them. Don’t you think that’s an unusual coincidence? So many Z’s all so close together--perhaps they’re the cause of all our misfortune. They’re putting everyone to sleep. But if they were collected and disposed of, maybe their removal might cause people to wake up to our situation.
(Pause)
It would explain all the sand too.
Mlagam: I’m not asleep.
Jabali: No, not you. It’s just other people that are.
(Pause)
Jabali: Z’s–all the way at the end of the line. Something’s got to be last, I guess. If you chopped off Z then Y would be last. What if you made the alphabet a circle, though, or a square, or just a big blob or anything? You’d still have all the letters. You could still talk. You could still write. And nothing would have to be last. You couldn’t do that with numbers, but you could do it with the alphabet.
Mlagam: No way to learn it.
Jabali: Oh, yeah. Nevermind. We should consider the children. They are the future, after all. The shrill, incontinent future. Yes, children are very important. Phone books, too.
(Pause)
The things that really bugs me about starving to death are the little inconveniences. For example, it’s very difficult for me to drink water out of my hands now, because the water just goes between the spaces between my fingers. I thought of a new way to do it, more like this, (he places his palms together as in prayer and then relaxes his hands to make a bowl between them) the little hole between your thumbs is like a spout. Still, the other way was better.
(pause)
And another thing–it’s impossible to form a good comedy duo around here. Everyone knows that all the great comedy duos have one fat guy and one skinny guy. The fat guy–he’s the one who’s really funny. We live in a country full of straight men.
Mlagam: You’re funny.
Jabali: Yes, but it’s very difficult for me. It’s a great strain. I’d much rather be the straight man. Other places must have the opposite problem. If a sort of exchange program could be initiated, imagine all the terrific comedy duos that could be created. That would be really fantastic. Imagine how much funnier just walking around might be–daily life, you know.
Mlagam: Contrast is comic. Uniformity is tragic.
Jabali: Here the humor is too dry. There the humor is too broad. That’s a joke. Didn’t you understand it? You’ve never been a big laugher, so I won’t take it personally. Please tell me, though. Did you understand?
Mlagam: Yeah.
Jabali: Good, good. I hate to waste jokes. There are only so many good ones around, after all, and a man never knows when he’ll run out.
(Pause)
Jabali: I wonder what is must be like to be very fat. I suppose it could be a bit like having a very low level of extra-sensory perception. Feeling things that are remote from one another, all at the same time. I fear my emaciation has robbed me of the ability to generalize in that way. (feels some sand) I’ve become more of a pointillist. You know, if a person could get so fat that some part of them poured down drains and wrapped around trees, then they would be omnipotent in a way. That’s something like what God is, only invisible. And good. Don’t you think?
Mlagam: (looks around and thinks about it without getting up) I don’t see anything. You could be right.
Jabali: I’m sure I am. So that means they’re getting more and more like God and we’re getting more and more like, well, nothing, I guess.
(Ni-Shan enters carrying a large plastic container filled with water. Zwafra and Wev arrive with him.)
Jabali: Well, if it isn’t the Bonny Prince. How fares your verdant kingdom? Do the honied melons burgeon with ripeness? Do the vendors deal briskly and jollily on the village square? Do you sup the sweet milks of a thousand goats?
(Ni-Shan sets down the container.)
Ni-Shan: No, not especially. No.
Jabali: Well, then what is the score?
Ni-Shan: It’s as I told you yesterday: tomorrow we will be eating the least useful person. That must either be you or Mlagam. I hate to put it to you that way, really I do. I’m sure that, being a reasonable person, you understand that it isn’t out of spite. Not even a little bit.
Jabali: Oh, yeah. Now I remember.
Mlagam: I contribute.
Jabali: It’s just ten o’clock, and it’s Saturday. Plus, I have big plans for the afternoon. If there’s a god, I’ve decided to become a minister. If not, I’ll be an... astronaut. I hope that there is one, a god I mean. Really, I do. To be an astronaut you’ve got to go through a lot. There are these big machines that shake you and spin you around in a circle. To be a minister you wear a hat, you eat a cracker, and it’s done. You get to watch TV for the rest of the day.
Ni-Shan: You know, that’s a good point. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it quite in those terms. I hope you’ll make some progress on that front. I think that you will.
Jabali: I want some water.
Ni-Shan: Help yourself. We can always get more.
(Jabali, Ni-Shan, Zwafra, and Wev sit around the container and begin to drink. Jabali uses his technique described above, which does, in fact, work better than the alternative. Mlagam stays where he is.)
Ni-Shan: Actually, there was one thing you could do this afternoon.
Jabali: Here we go again. Time goes by so quickly. You turn around and the day is over.
Ni-Shan: I was talking to a man in Baz-Baz. He used to work for my father. He said we could come into the refugee camp if we found the seven pieces of his missing amulet.
Jabali: I don’t know. Me and Mlagam had other plans, like I said. Anyway, as soon as we got in the camp, we’d probably all find ourselves working for you again.
Ni-Shan: While I can’t make you do it, and I’d never want it said that I was an intrusive person or that I was a demanding person, I thought you might want to help out. And perhaps this will sweeten the deal.
(Ni-Shan grabs up a handful of sand, and gives it to Jabali. Jabali weighs it in appraisal and sets it down near him.)
Jabali: (to Mlagam) Well, you make a persuasive offer, and it might be nice to have a zany adventure. Sort of like on that show.
Mlagam: Are the seven pieces still attached?
Jabali: I doubt it–you know what show I mean, though. It used to be on FOX. I think it came on after "Parker Lewis Can’t Lose."
Mlagam: "In Living Color"?
Jabali: No, it was a sitcom– (turns to Zwafra) hey, do you ever think about how we all know a lot about television shows, and we know what television is, but we’ve never actually had any televisions or actually seen one?
Zwafra: I’m sorry, what did you say?
Jabali: I said why are you still going out with this (points to Ni-Shan) guy and not me? I’m like twice as funny. Ok, hold on. Check this out. I’ve been practicing learning to juggle. People told me it was all in the wrist, but it turns out that isn’t true.
(Jabali stands up and backs away from the container. He picks up one handful of sand in one hand, then another handful of sand in the other hand, then a third handful of sand in the first hand. He tries to juggle these, which doesn’t work in the slightest, and continues making the motions long after he has dropped all the sand.)
Zwafra: Great.
Jabali: Well, I’m getting better at it. And it makes a bold philosophical statement–if you understand that sort of thing, at least. So, is a sense of humor just not that important to you in terms of mate selection?
(Zwafra starts to answer but Jabali cuts her off.)
And why would it be, anyway? You can’t kill a deer with a joke. You can’t dig a well with a joke. So why do you people keep putting it so high on the list? What would you get out of it?
Zwafra: Ni-Shan is funny too.
Jabali: No he’s not, come on!
Ni-Shan: I’d like to think that I have my moments of humorousness. Not really the laugh-out-loud kind, I suppose. I told a joke in Baz-Baz earlier, though now I can’t seem to remember it.
Zwafra: Don’t worry about it sweetheart.
Jabali: If you really wanted to improve things, you’d all learn to juggle too. That’s why nobody important wants to help us–you people aren’t entertaining enough. Do you understand what I mean? We’re too hard to empathize with. Otherwise, help would come pouring in. We need to stand out more. It’s like if there was a disease that gave you big green welts. Nobody would notice if green people got it. Bloody people don’t get attention if they’re already red.
Ni-Shan: But, you see, there aren’t any green people. Do you, don’t you feel that that sort of hampers your argument a bit?
Mlagam: I saw a purple man one time. He had a birth defect.
Jabali: I mean, we just need to be easier to care about somehow. Become more endearing. There’s probably a joke that’s funny enough to solve this whole problem for all of us. The only problem is that I’m suspicious it’s only funny in a language I’ve never heard before.
Ni-Shan: Again, that’s quite possible. I really can’t say. I hate to make a pest of myself, but if you wanted to go ahead and start looking for those pieces of the amulet, the ones that I mentioned before. They won’t find themselves, you know.
(Zwafra laughs.)
Jabali: Fine, did he say where any of them are?
(Jabali stands.)
Ni-Shan: I don’t think so. No, in fact, I distinctly remember he was, I guess you could call him evasive on that point. And that is a shame, I admit. A real shame. I’m not being very helpful. So, in the spirit of reciprocation and equivocation, I won’t become upset with you if you can’t find them. I mean, that seems only fair. I certainly appreciate all the help, any of the help, that you two provide. Does that seem fair to you?
Jabali: (to Mlagam) Do you want some water before we go?
Mlagam: No.
(Mlagam stand up slowly and unsteadily.)
Jabali: Let’s start with Uzanga.
(Jabali and Mlagam exit stage right.)
Ni-Shan: I think I’ll go pray for awhile. I’ll be back soon.
(Ni-Shan exits stage left.)
Wev: Do you think it’s true what he said?
Zwafra: Who?
Wev: Jabali.
Zwafra: What did he say?
Wev: That the reason no one cares about helping us is because we’re not interesting enough.
Zwafra: I don’t know. There’s no use worrying about it, I guess.
Wev: Do you think they would find us pretty at all?
Zwafra: Would who find us pretty?
Wev: Anybody. A man like Brad Pitt or George Clooney and more normal people too.
Zwafra: It’s hard to know. I don’t think so, though. I mean, it’s beautiful to be skinny, but we’re too skinny. We’re not very clean. We have worms.
Wev: And the thing that makes it so frustrating is that we could be pretty if only someone would give us some stuff to be pretty with. But no one cares in the first place because we’re not pretty to start with.
Zwafra: All it would really take would be soap, foundation, and some food. Maybe some eyeliner too. But not too much food.
Wev: Right. You know, men look best in times of plenty, but women look best nearer the edge of catastrophe–not right in it, though.
Zwafra: That’s because we’re more stoic. It emphasizes that stoicism.
Wev: Yes. It couldn’t be anything else.
Zwafra: I only eat a lot when I’m depressed.
Wev: Me too, but the only thing that depresses me anymore is not having any food.

--Slavery Hopkins